Let’s all stand around and eagerly anticipate the launch of new pop culture magazine Disappear Here
Disappear Here… is a new magazine about pop culture. It is about music, fashion, film, literature, and all that falls in between. It is about the best, newest and most exciting bits of everything. And it looks beautiful. It is not like any other magazine.
Editor-in-Chief: David Whitehouse
Editor-at-Large: Peaches Geldof
Editorial Director: James Brown
Staff Writer: Dan Jude
Art: Stuart Tolley
Publisher: Andy Varley
This cannot be a good thing.
Ignore the name of the magazine, and ignore the blurb that comes with it as well: despite the fact they both sound like they belong on one of those “fanzines with a hardback spine and ridiculously high production values” that laid on the counters of your local indie record store before the internet killed off fanzines and music for good (circa 2003?), it’s not important. We should probably consider the writers here.
Firstly, David Whitehouse is sadly not the same David Whitehouse who writes on science matters and occasionally knocks out copy for The New Statesman. Which is a shame, because a merger of The NS’s worldview and modern indie culture, to me, would be a big seller: Foals shitting on the Star of David, for instance, or MGMT on how the “Blood Libel” is actually based on hard fact.
No, this David Whitehouse is a former features writer from Maxim magazine, who writes profile pieces on Sophie Anderton that actually contain the phrase “She glows – literally”.
Then there’s James Brown. I did a long spell interning at [FORMER MAGAZINE JAMES BROWN OWNED, NAME DELETED ON LEGAL REASONS]. Trying to come up with as many “Yeah, I know your mag’s history” statements, I asked what it was like having the William Randolph Hearst of mid-90s wank rags calling the shots. Their response, condensed for reasons of libel, was something to the extent of “he’s a twat with ADD who dresses like a toddler”. So that’s all good.
But no, this is all about Peaches Geldof here. Let’s not bring personal hatred into this. Let’s not describe her as someone who needs to close her fucking legs for five seconds, and then use said legs to walk as far away from me and this country’s media as possible. And let’s not laugh at her pops spending most of the early 00s moaning that political correctness gone made had led to parents raising their kids incorrectly, before it became apparent that he’s so cack-handed as a father that his actions have helped directly nurture history’s greatest monster. No, let’s talk about the idea of Peaches Geldof as “editor at large” of a magazine.
Clearly, she isn’t going to write any of this. Having seen her factory reject Victorian doll features on TV shows speaking live, she’s not too hot at the whole “putting words together into a coherent sentence” thing. So she’s at the magazine for two reasons. One is as a brand ambassador: she can roll up to those parties she’s always at because she’s never had to do a proper day’s work in her fucking life and the lowlives at thelondonlitepaper can fill up their gossip pages with “Disappear Here editor-in-chief Peaches Geldof walks through open door” style “stories”. Secondly, they can ghostwrite stuff under her name, because, apparently, some people value what they imagine her contributions to the cultural debate to be.
This is basically an XFM take on the recent strategy employed by menopausal checkout display favourite Reveal magazine, which recently rebranded itself as “The magazine written by celebrities”. This translates as every section is now ghosted under the illusion that a celebrity has taken three days out of their schedule to commission, write, sub, and layout six paves of “nutritious packed lunches in under 20 minutes!” So you get Martine McCutcheon’s fashion tips, money advice from Vanessa Feltz, Kerry Katona’s dubstep round-up, and “50 ways to spice up your lovelife” written by Wigan Athletic striker Amr Zaki.
It’s not good, it’s not right, and it’s not healthy: it’s bad enough when people are actually looking to journalists for advice on what to think, but when they’re turning to journalists pretending to be C-list celebrities, then the time has come for someone to get the knife out and start shanking people in the skull. Disappear Here consists of a bunch of midtable “bloke” mag hacks and Peaches Geldof. If it makes it past five issues I will bare my arse in the window of British Home Stores in Northampton.